


He Gives Me Fever (Pitch)

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Category: Football RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Sports, Crystal Palace, ESPN, English Premier League, First Kiss, Football, Football | Soccer, M/M, Manchester United, Rivalry, USMNT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5556512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen Ackles’ dream of playing for one of the top football clubs in England is nearly within reach. Until another American player, the new cocky striker at Manchester United, bursts onto the scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Gives Me Fever (Pitch)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brokenhighways](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenhighways/gifts).



> Written for spn_j2_xmas as a gift for brokenhighways! The mods knew what they were doing when they sent me your request for “J2 on rival soccer teams and they clash, tensions rise and...stuff happens?” I hope you enjoy this despite it being written by an Arsenal fan :P Now you can probably guess why I had the mods ask you for your favorite teams... 
> 
> I made up an entire Premier League season for this, though I did steal a couple of my favorite storylines :P

“And here comes Mata streaking up the middle of the field, Rooney to his right at the edge of the eighteen-yard box.”

The mellifluous voice of Arlo White rises in both volume and intensity as Manchester United players press towards the Tottenham goal.

“Vertonghen looks to intercept, but Mata spins around the Belgian, looking for a cross. He’s got Rooney in front of him, but Mata lifts the pass into the box where Padalecki is _sprinting_ to make up ground! Can he...he does! The young American—with superhuman speed—heads the ball with incredible force past Hugo Lloris! And it’s 2-0 to Manchester United here in the first half.”

“That’s Jared Padalecki’s first goal here at Old Trafford, and his fourth of the season,” Graeme Le Saux adds, though his commentary is difficult to hear over the din coming from the home crowd.

“Old Trafford is positively _electric_ as Padalecki celebrates this absolutely momentous occasion. He’s the first American to ever score a goal for Manchester United in this stadium. This is something, I have no doubt, he will remember for the rest of his life.”

Le Saux focuses on the replay of the goal. “Padalecki’s finish is impeccable. Look at how much ground he needed to make up. The cross from Mata could’ve been too much, but that burst of speed enabled him to use his momentum, heading the ball perfectly on target. Lloris had no chance to save that—no chance at all.”

“Well, we are witnessing the start of something extraordinary, I think, Graeme. Jared Padalecki, only 23 years old, writing his chapter in Manchester United’s history books. The American phenom appears unstoppable. Get used to the name,” White proclaims, “this won’t be the last time you hear it this season!”

~~~

“The next person who so much as breathes the name _Padalecki_ is getting a cleat to the nuts.”

Jensen Ackles stalks into the dressing room and drops his bag at his locker. Only their physio, Tahmoh, hears him though, as Jensen’s Crystal Palace teammates remain ignorant of his rant courtesy of their headphones.

“He scored again last night, didn’t he?” Tahmoh is careful not to say _his_ name, knowing full well that Jensen doesn’t make idle threats.

Jensen nods. Talking about it will only make him angrier. Right now, all he wants is to be out on the training ground with his squad, soaking up the rare London sunshine while he sweats and runs and does whatever he can to become a better player.

Because unlike _some_ so-called ‘phenoms,’ Jensen has worked to achieve success in the English Premier League. Including helping lift his team back into England’s top flight to begin with. Before that, Jensen put in three years in Norway—fucking _Norway_!—playing as a defensive midfielder just to get noticed. Crystal Palace bought him four years ago, his transfer costing just over £200,000, a bargain even for a team in England’s second-tier league.

They’d done it, though. Coming to London was like coming home for Jensen; he fit right into the system at Crystal Palace, grateful when he was shifted to his prefered position as an attacking midfielder. Together with his team, they managed to get promoted the very next season.

Jensen figured that would be his claim to fame. Him—an American footballer (still an oxymoron, the lads teased)—an integral part of Palace’s success. Turned out that back in the States, no one cared about a rising team from South London like Crystal Palace. Given the name, some American fans didn’t even believe it was a real team.

Apparently if it wasn’t sponsored by a Middle Eastern Airline or a global insurance conglomerate, Americans didn’t bother knowing about it.

Manchester United. Arsenal. Liverpool: teams that inspired a reaction.

Crystal Palace: inspires a chuckle and a wry, “Sure you’re not making that up?”

Oh well.

Jensen used the disappointment to tackle the next challenge: keeping Palace _in_ the Premier League. It took more than a handful of down-to-the-wire matches (and a revolving door of team managers). Now, three years later, Palace sits comfortably in the top half of the league under the leadership of Alan Pardew. It’s not superstardom (Jensen likes to dream big), but he’s playing the game he loves, surrounded by people who respect him as a player. Every week he sees kids and adults wearing his number—his name—on their jerseys; he has a _chant_.

So no, it isn’t superstardom. It’s still amazing.

And Jensen was okay with it, never bitter, until _he_ came along.

“Just look at this.” Jensen thrusts his phone at Tahmoh before he starts changing into the freshly washed training kit that’s been laid out in front of his locker.

“Hometown Hero,” Tahmoh reads, “Native Son Makes History in England.”

Jensen’s stomach rolls. He’s read the article three times.

“So? Why do you care what the Dallas Morning News writes about Pad—” Tahmoh catches himself. “About that guy?”

“I’m from Dallas.”

Tahmoh’s lips round in a silent _oh_. He hands the phone back as he greets the players just making their way into the dressing room, Yohan and Conner among them. Jensen is left to stew.

He puts it out of his mind during training, laughing with his teammates as they work through countless drills and conditioning on the Beckenham ground. That’s followed by a hot shower and two hours worth of game review and tactics with the first-team coaches, all in preparation for their upcoming home match against Newcastle.

Only when Jensen is back in his flat in Kent does his mind circle back to Jared Padalecki. If it wasn’t for the press coverage and insane amount of attention, Jensen might admire the kid. That kind of international success is worthy of respect. You can count on two hands the number of Americans playing week to week in the major European leagues. One hand if you don’t include goalkeepers.

Jensen’s never played alongside Padalecki, though they’ve both been called up to the U.S. National squads. Only the difference in their ages kept them on different teams. Jensen went to Brazil for the World Cup while Jared was still making appearances for the under-23 team. Now that Padalecki is starting for Manchester United, Jensen assumes he’s a shoo-in for the senior squad during the next international break.

But it’s impossible to ignore the hype surrounding Jensen’s fellow Texan and it’s messing with his attitude. Jensen has invested years making a name for himself in England—convincing the critics he wasn’t a joke or a one-season wonder. And here’s Padalecki, washing all of that away before the season is out of its infancy.

He tries to push down the frustration and focus on what he’s gained from his time at Crystal Palace, tries to picture what his future might look like. A few months ago, Jensen could imagine himself being transferred to one of the major English teams. Maybe even Arsenal—his father’s dream—once his efforts at Palace were fully recognized. Now, with his efforts all but drowned by a single name, Jensen’s having a hard time imagining much beyond U.S. National Team duty and another season playing for a mid-table team.

Jensen wants _so much more_.

If he ever meets Padalecki, he’s going to punch the kid square in the face.

~~~

In the NBC Sports studio, Rebecca Lowe, Kyle Martino, and Robbie Earle break down the top storylines from a full Saturday of action and drama in the Premier League.

After concluding the debate on how long Manchester City’s troubled manager will last, Rebecca turns to Kyle and asks, “What do you make of Jared Padalecki’s rise at Manchester United? Another goal for him today, one last week,” she recounts. “People are certainly beginning to take notice.”

Kyle grins. “I've gotta say, I'm enjoying every minute of it. His amazing run of form at Hamburg is what got him noticed by Louis Van Gaal. Fifteen goals for Padalecki last season in the Bundesliga, and he's not showing any signs of slowing down now that he's playing in England.”

“Padalecki fills the gap Robin Van Persie left behind,” Earle adds. “United needed someone like him at center forward now that Rooney has dropped back to become more of a provider. He plays in the same style as Olivier Giroud: he's fast, instinctive, and I give credit to United for moving him into that central striking role. Hamburg played him as a midfielder, where he still scored plenty of goals, but he's proving he belongs up top. I say he’ll score more goals this season than he did last season.”

Pictures of Padalecki flash on the floor-to-ceiling digital backdrop behind the commentators. Sweaty hair held away from his face by a narrow band, cheeks ruddy and as red as his jersey as he smiles, celebrating a goal with his teammates.

“Jared Padalecki has told the press that he came to United to play Champions League football,” Rebecca reminds their viewers. “Do you think playing in European competition is helping him?”

“He's certainly doing his part to ensure United don't repeat their early exit from the group stages last season,” Earle says.

“Even though he's only scored once so far in the Champions League, that goal came at a critical time,” Martino points out. “He needs that kind of experience to become a world class player.”

“And he'll have another chance to prove himself on an international stage during the forthcoming break,” Rebecca segues. “He's been called up by the United States for their World Cup qualifying matches against Honduras and Trinidad and Tobago. He’ll be playing alongside some of his Premier League competition: Jensen Ackles of Crystal Palace, Stoke City’s Geoff Cameron, and Villa keeper Brad Guzan.”

“They'll be lining up with Padalecki’s fans for his autograph,” Martino jokes, earning smiles from his fellow commentators. “I know I would!”

“When we return,” Rebecca continues, “we’ll take a closer look at Tottenham’s new manager, and what he's been doing to pull his team out of their recent downturn of form.”

~~~

Jensen is still catching his breath when he's pulled aside for a post-match interview. The reporter jumps straight in, microphone tilted and at the ready as the cameras catch the sweat still beaded across Jensen's forehead.

“Fabulous effort today, Jensen. Tell us a bit about Alan Pardew’s game plan.”

“Well, we knew that Southampton would play us tough,” Jensen explains, throwing in a little twang for his American fans. “They're fast and they're good on the counter attack, so it was important that we defend with that in mind. Scott and Adrian did great closing off those routes and keeping us from conceding a goal.”

“And of course your goal sealed the win. Talk us through the build-up.”

Jensen has to think past the adrenalin. “Wilfried really got it going with that pass out of the midfield,” he recounts. “Yohan made a great turn away from his defender and played me an awesome ball down the right. Total team effort, but I was the lucky guy who got to finish it off. We go over those close shots in practice, and I'm happy with the the final touch I got on the ball.”

Several of Jensen's Palace teammates make their way down the tunnel as they come off the field after signing autographs or talking to supporters, pulling faces as they pass.

The reporter switches gears. “International break’s coming up. Looking forward to playing back home?”

“Anytime I get to play back in the States—and see my family—is special, and I'm ready to get over there and start training. On the other hand, we don't want to lose momentum here. Not when we’re on a run like this. So it's important that we all do our best for our respective countries, but that we all come back healthy and fit, too.”

Crystal Palace’s win tonight brings them up into the top six in the Premier League. Uncharted territory. It's a hell of a rush, and Jensen wants to stay there.

“You and Jared Padalecki both scored this weekend for your clubs,” the reporter leads. “Can we expect a bit of a rivalry between the two of you?”

Jensen laughs even as something more visceral claws at his insides.

“It's tough to develop a rivalry when I've never met the kid.” Jensen chooses his language deliberately. “We don't play United until the end of next month, I think, but I've heard a lot about Jared. I can't wait to get on the field with him—see what everyone's been talking about.”

He keeps his voice light, teasing. Easily read as typical banter, something good natured. When in reality he's cursing his soon-to-be-teammate’s existence. He can't even make it though one interview without facing Padalecki’s specter. Even on a day when Jensen should be the center of attention. (Team effort, yeah yeah, but it was _Jensen’s_ goal.)

Jensen is all smiles through the rest of the interview and during post-game in their dressing room at Selhurst Park. Tahmoh shoots him a look that says he overheard the interview and would understand if Jensen needed to vent.

The sourness lingers, however, until he gets back to his flat, where he tries to distract himself with emails from family and friends. It works for a short time while he arranges his hectic schedule, relieved that the U.S. National Team is giving him two free days to attend his best friend’s engagement celebrations back in Texas before he has to join up with the squad for training.

Unfortunately, one of Jensen's former college teammates sends him an Instagram video clip of Kyle Martino saying that Jensen ought to line up for Padalecki’s autograph like an adoring fan.

Jensen's _done_ after that.

He’ll play nice for the press. Say all the right things and make the most of his time in the States. But he'll be gunning for Padalecki. Time to show the upstart kid what _experience_ means. He might be on a tear now, but Jensen's been around for a long time—he still has tricks up his sleeve. Jensen can train harder, focus more, and play better. He can use Padalecki's sudden notoriety as an incentive to show him up.

So what if Padalecki is the man of the moment? All that coverage, all that pressure…

He’ll never see Jensen coming.

~~~

When Jensen Ackles finally meets Jared Padalecki, it's not on the pitch or in the locker room. He doesn't meet the kid on the training ground or during one of the laborious press days that precede World Cup Qualifiers.

When they meet, it's in the middle of a crowded club in downtown Dallas two days before training begins. There are no photographers, no fans, no teams. Just Jensen and a dozen of his friends enjoying the after party to what was already a lavish engagement dinner.

Jensen is heading back to the group with his second (and final) drink of the night, when he's jostled into a newcomer. A lean figure that stretches above even Jensen's well-built six feet. He steps back, charm falling naturally into his demeanor, ready to apologize and introduce himself, only to meet hazel eyes and a troublingly familiar crown of wavy brown hair.

Caught in a staring match, it takes Jensen longer than it should to recognize the kid. It's a shock to see him _here_ , of all places. After months of seeing Jared Padalecki through the public lens, here he is right in front of Jensen. 

Padalecki's eyes light up as he comes to the same realization. Jensen catches a flash of something that could be panic, but dismisses it as an effect of the club’s dancing lights.

They stare at one another in gaping silence for one drawn-out moment before someone knocks into Padalecki, causing him to stumble forward, nearly upending his drink all over Jensen. Once the tension is effectively broken, Padalecki smiles and shakes his head.

“Talk about a surprise,” he says. 

Jensen is _not at all_ prepared for the effect of his honeyed tone and bashful grin—so different from the swagger he displays back in England. Maybe Padalecki has an identical twin here in Dallas that no one knows about. Separated at birth, perhaps.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jensen asks, plowing straight past any niceties. He's thrown, tracking back as fast as he can. “Shouldn't you be in St. Louis already?”

“Shouldn't _you_?”

“Special circumstances,” Jensen tells him, ignoring the way his friends are watching the two of them square off. “I'm here for my best friend’s engagement party. I'm flying out in the morning.”

Padalecki shrugs, forcing Jensen to ignore the way he fills out the chocolate brown cashmere sweater he's wearing. “Guess it wouldn't be fair for the squad to let you take a day for your best friend, but not for me and my cousin.”

“Who’s your cousin?”

“The bride _does_ have family, you know,” he points out, teasing. “I have a flight in the morning, too. Hey, maybe we're traveling together!”

Jensen doesn't want to let Padalecki’s enthusiasm infect him, though it's difficult to manage when his entire personality is so far from what Jensen has seen. He even looks different—so soft and approachable. Nothing like the cocky Manchester United striker who wears fame like a sash and has the press eating out of the palm of his hand.

 _This_ is a man Jensen would consider hitting on, just to see where the night would take them. He's home—safe—away from the club and the all-seeing eyes of the British media. Here in the States, he can usually get around without people recognizing him. A plus when he needs to let off a little steam with someone who’s discreet. And Jensen's manager doesn't care what he does so long as rumors stay rumors. (Though just about everyone in the Premier League knows that Mesut Ozil and Mathieu Flamini have more than a _bromance_ , and that hookups happen in every squad.)

But this isn't some random guy. This is Jensen's nemesis (self-proclaimed); the main reason he's so keyed up for national team training. And yet…

“Look, Padalecki,” Jensen sighs. “Even if they did put us on the same—”

“Jared.”

“What?”

Padalecki smiles again. Or maybe he just never stopped. “My name is Jared.”

Jensen scowls. “Yeah, I know.”

“You can just call me Jared.”

There's nothing annoyed or reproachful in his tone. Nothing but Texas sunshine and warm afternoons on grassy fields. He's so friendly, Jensen wants to throw up. Or kiss him.

Instead, he says, “I'll consider it,” which must be the perfect thing, because suddenly Padalecki is laughing and throwing his arm over Jensen's shoulders, dragging him towards a wide leather seat at the edge of their group. 

On one breath, Padalecki is talking about the delayed flight that caused him to miss the engagement dinner, and on the next he's telling Jensen how excited he is to join up with the national team the next day. Never once stopping to ask why Jensen looks shell-shocked or giving him one foot of personal space on the leather seat.

What the hell has he gotten himself into?

~~~

Jensen isn't sure when he crossed the line between wanting to destroy Jared and desperately wanting to sleep with him, but that race is over. Ceremonial tape broken, arms raised in celebration and relief. And Jared, unless Jensen's ability to read a guy’s interest has deteriorated from disuse, feels the exact same way.

They've got a private corner to themselves, the leather seat getting more narrow as the distance between them shrinks. Every so often Jensen's eyes stray over to the dance floor; his friends (along with most of the other club goers) are oblivious to the two of them, for which Jensen is grateful. He figured Jared, at least, might have gotten to the point where people recognized him immediately. For once, Jensen is thankful that football—soccer—hasn’t reached crazy levels of popularity here.

If Jensen had to draw the line, he'd say it came somewhere between Jared talking about his flat in Manchester and his intense stare while he listened to Jensen talk about his dad’s dream of playing for Arsenal. It's a subject that's been brought up in one interview after another during Jensen's career, and yet no one has ever seemed so focused on the story behind it. Jared's eyes are shining as if he can feel Jensen's emotions.

And then Jared says, “You're good enough to play for any club you wanted.”

Jensen, blushing like he's had five drinks instead of nursing his second, doesn't know what to say to that. It's different coming from Jared than it would be coming from his friends or his manager.

“You're the rock at Palace,” Jared's saying, pressing into Jensen's space like he's man-marking him. “Every team wants a player like that who they can bank on week-to-week.”

“No, they want a player like you.” Jensen dares to let his fingers whisper over the strong bones of Jared's wrist. “Goals fill the seats. A full stadium means a hell of a lot of money.”

“I'm just a flash,” Jared insists, glancing down where Jensen's hand rests just to the side of his and smiling. “If I don't score for three weeks, they'll turn on me. History is just as important as goal-scoring, and no team builds a legacy without rock-solid players. That's you, Jensen.”

Hearing his name from Jared’s (very soft looking) lips ranks right up there with hearing his chant ringing throughout Selhurst Park. Jared says it so earnestly, with such _feeling_ that Jensen wonders how it would sound in other, sweatier circumstances.

“Meeting you here tonight is just so crazy,” Jared admits. “You were the one guy on the team I was nervous to meet.” He ducks his head, hair falling across his forehead. I have your jerseys, you know.”

Jensen lights up. “As in, more than one?”

It’s Jared’s turn to appear bashful, a rosy tint to those sculpted (and very kissable) cheekbones. “I had your U.S. jersey, like, seven years ago, before I even considered playing in Europe. Then you got traded to Palace, and I bought that one, too.”

He pitches further into Jensen’s space. It’s unnerving to be the complete center of one man’s attention while, at the same time, being so thoroughly ignored by everyone else in the club.

“All I wanted was to have a career like yours. I knew I wanted to play in England, too, someday. Help build a team like you’ve done at Palace.”

Jensen blinks, astonished. All he’s wanted for _months_ is to be in the spotlight like Jared. To be the player everyone’s talking about. Perhaps there’s something to being the guy in the background, though. Just as long as the right people know what he’s capable of…

“I’m not a household name,” Jensen mutters.

“Well, in my house you were.”

Jensen looks up, glance sharp. Rusty skills or not, there is _no way_ for Jensen to misunderstand the heat in Jared’s eyes. He's still having trouble reconciling his perception of Jared with the reality that's literally almost sitting in his lap. And though he'd figured on finding a bit of stress relief while he was back in the States, never in a million years did he think it would come in the form of a handsome, six-foot four rival player who, up until a few hours ago, Jensen was ready to hate into oblivion. 

Right now he's eager for a different kind of oblivion. One that involves getting to see what Jensen knows is a freaking ridiculous body under all of Jared's clothes.

“Listen—” Jared starts at the same time Jensen asks, “What hotel are you staying at?”

Jared’s laugh is brief and full of heat. “The Omni just around the corner.”

Jensen silently praises whoever coordinates the team's travel . “Same here.”

“I was about to say that it's pretty late. I don't think the coaches would appreciate it if we stayed out much later, you know?”

Jensen grins. “I don't think anyone here would mind if we took off.”

“Doubt they'd even notice.”

“Lead the way, then,” Jensen tells him. He'd rather lean over and take what Jared's been tempting him with since they sat down, but even if they aren't wearing their names and numbers on their backs, the risk of someone catching the moment on their cell phone is too high. They might not realize what they're looking at until they sober up later, but Jensen can keep himself in check long enough to get Jared behind closed doors.

Jared's hand ghosts over the indent of Jensen's hip in an all-too-brief contact, setting the stage.

Maybe. _Maybe_ Jensen can keep himself in check. So long as Jared doesn't look back with that dark gaze (the one that promises Jensen might be fulfilling one or two of his new fantasies tonight) or— _fuck_ —lick his lips. Which he's doing _right now_. 

Maybe the cocky bastard isn't a mirage for the press after all. Jensen's surprised to feel no disappointment whatsoever. He meets Jared's gaze with an equally eager one before he follows him out of the club.

The sooner they get to the hotel, the better.

~~~

“Welcome back to ESPN FC, where we’re looking ahead to this weekend’s World Cup qualifiers.”

Dan Thomas, host of the daily recap show, picks up right where he left off before the commercial break.

“Given the players on this U.S. roster, many of whom are joining the senior team for the first time,” Thomas says, addressing the three other members on today’s panel, “who are you most looking forward to seeing?”

Craig Burley is the first to jump in. “It’s got ta be Jared Padalecki,” he says in his thick Scottish accent. “All the attention he’s getting for United at the moment, he’ll be under the most pressure to score. He’s got ta be up for the challenge against Honduras, who have built a stronger defense since their poor showing at the Gold Cup.”

“I agree,” Steve Nicol says, accent equally strong. “But I also want ta see how Padalecki matches up with a midfielder like Jensen Ackles. They’re both expected ta start this match, but they’ve got very different styles of play. Padalecki can learn a lot from Ackles—there’s no one like him playing at Manchester United. Especially his ability ta hold up play in order ta give his strikers a chance ta get forward.”

“Yeah,” Kasey Keller adds, “it’s really the partnership between Ackles and Padalecki that I’m looking forward to. With all the press Padalecki’s been getting, the focus will be on him, but Ackles is so solid in the midfield. He needs to learn what Padalecki is capable of and use him accordingly.”

“He’s such a big guy, but he’s fast, too,” Burley says. “He’ll be looking ta counter, and the team will be expecting Ackles ta put him through on goal every time. I think we’ll either see this partnership account for two or three goals, or else it’ll be a complete mismatch.”

“No middle ground then,” Thomas comments. “You’re saying it’ll either be fantastic, or an utter disaster.”

Keller jumps back into the discussion. “The manager can’t afford for it to be a disaster. These qualifiers might seem like easily winnable games on paper, but after what happened to the U.S. at the last Gold Cup, they can’t make any mistakes.”

“They need to win,” Nicol says, “and they need ta win decisively. And Ackles is gonna be the key ta that. If he's the one dictating the play in the midfield, he'll give Padalecki plenty of chances ta score. And I think Padalecki will make the most of Ackles’ service.”

Thomas laughs. “So you’re rooting for a fantastic success.”

“No reason for it not ta be,” Nicol insists. “If Padalecki and Ackles can play as well together as they can individually, I think we’ll all be in for a real show.”

~~~

Jensen and Jared are fantastic together.

In bed, obviously. They’re fantastic _in bed._

Jensen hasn’t gotten the chance to take the pitch with Jared yet, but if their _performance_ tonight is any indication, it’ll be a game for the record books. Jared’s body responds to Jensen’s touch in ways that are so indecent, they might be illegal in several states. Probably in England, too. 

After a five minute walk from the club to their hotel, there was a brief discussion on whose room to use (which Jared won on the technicality that his was on a lower floor, ergo, shorter elevator ride) before they were finally alone. Jensen expected another bout of awkwardness. He, at least, allowed himself a few seconds of silent panic—asking himself, “Am I really doing this?” By then, Jared had stripped out of his sweater, and Jensen abandoned his concerns.

Jensen’s body urged him to get on with things more than once while he was kissing Jared. It felt so good just to concentrate on this one thing, a simple pleasure he'd been denying himself for months. Jared’s mouth is soft but not yielding, confident and clever. Jensen could easily kiss him all night if his libido wasn’t screaming for more skin, more touching, more _everything_.

And while they didn’t achieve _everything_ in a single night, Jared and Jensen certainly made the most of the time they had. By the time Jensen’s cell phone alarm wakes them up the next morning, Jensen’s become well-acquainted with just about every part of Jared’s anatomy, although his appetite is far from sated. 

Apparently Jared feels something along the same lines. He invites himself into the shower while Jensen’s still enjoying the hot spray down his back, the heat causing the scratch marks down his back to tingle in pleasant memory. They stay in the shower until the hot water runs out, forced to trade rushed kisses as they get dressed and pack their bags for their flight to St. Louis.

Jared wrangles with the gate agent in order to get two first class seats next to each other, while Jensen makes a quick pass through the coffee shop to buy them each some much needed caffeine.

Once the plane is in the air, Jared leans over the wide armrest and taps Jensen’s leg. Just about everyone else in the first class cabin is wearing headphones, listening to music or watching something on their iPads, giving them a semblance of privacy.

“So, last night…”

“We’re doing this now?” Jensen whispers. He’d been trying _not_ to think about what their hookup meant. If there was any sort of possible future for the two of them.

“You’d rather do it in the locker room?” Jared asks. “Or in front of the coaches?”

Jensen concedes his point. “Look, Jared—”

Jared cuts him off. “If you’re about to tell me that last night was great, but it can’t happen again, don’t bother.”

“Is that what you want me to say?”

“I’d rather hear you say, ‘last night was great, when can we do it again?’”

Jensen’s chest feels tight. He doubts it has anything to do with cabin pressure.

“Again?”

“Preferably as soon as possible,” Jared says, tilting so that his mouth ghosts across the shell of Jensen’s ear. He can’t blame his shiver on turbulence.

Jensen glances over, tries to read the truth in Jared’s eyes. If the kid’s fucking with him, Jensen will be crushed. He’d rather hear nothing and let the night stand as a warm memory, than have it ruined by a cruel joke. But when he looks into Jared’s eyes, he sees an earnest desire along with something else he recognizes easily.

Hope.

“I don’t think we have time to join the mile-high club,” Jensen whispers, delighted to notice that Jared is the one trembling now. “But ask me again when we’re at the hotel tonight.”

~~~

During halftime, Adrian Healey turns to Taylor Twellman in the commentator’s box and asks the all-important question, “Were you expecting this kind of performance today, Taylor?”

As effusive as ever, the former American player shakes his head. “I don't think anyone, including the manager, expected this! This lineup of players was designed to provide goals, but even I didn't realize how effective the partnership between Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles would be.”

“Three goals between them, and one assist each for the two men who represent the U.S. in the Premier League. Padalecki at Manchester United, of course, and Ackles earning himself quite a bit of respect as one of Crystal Palace’s solid midfielders.”

“Ackles has been seriously underestimated as a player coming into this game,” Twellman adds. “I don't think that's going to happen again. I mean, just look at this pass.” A replay of Jared's second goal, enabled by Jensen's perfectly weighted assist, comes up on their screen. “It's like he knew exactly where Padalecki was going to be. Just a simple touch from the forward, and there was nothing the Honduran keeper could do about it.”

“It certainly appears as if they've been playing together for years, not less than a week,” Healey says.

“This is the goal-scoring partnership the U.S. has needed for the last few years, players who can adjust and work together.” Twellman’s voice takes on an edge the more excited he gets. “I mean, United might want to consider a bid for Ackles during the winter transfer window. If Padalecki could have Ackles feeding him balls like that week-to-week, he'd have twice as many goals.

“And it'd be one thing if Padalecki was the only one scoring, but right before the half, he squared that pass to Ackles instead of taking a shot on goal. He might have scored then and gotten his hat-trick, but he saw that Ackles was wide open. It's like he wanted to return the favor and make sure Ackles got on the scoresheet, too.”

“What can we expect in the second half?” Healey asks as the halftime break winds down. 

“I think we’re gonna see more goals,” Twellman is quick to say. “Honduras has no answer for Padalecki’s speed and Ackles’ ability to dictate play in the midfield. I wouldn’t be surprised if Padalecki gets his first hat-trick for the U.S. tonight, and I think we’ll see one or two other players get on the scoresheet as well.”

Healey wraps up with a brief teaser of the action that’s left to come. 

“When we come back, we’ll have the second half of the U.S. Men’s World Cup qualifier versus Honduras, a game that’s turning out to be a showcase of Premier League stars. Will the duo of Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles write their way into the history books tonight? We’ll find out when we return!”

~~~

**EPILOGUE.**  


The tenth time Jensen and Jared sleep together (or maybe it’s the eleventh), Jared tells him about his plan to buy a lake house back in Texas.

Tonight they’re at Jensen’s flat in Kent, the heat heavy to shield them from the pervasive midwinter cold. Jared managed to sneak away from Manchester to spend his day off with Jensen, something he’s been doing whenever he gets the opportunity.

“I know I don’t get home much _now_ ,” Jared points out as Jensen lounges quietly against his naked chest, the sweat on their bodies dissipating quickly, “but my career won’t last forever. I want to have someplace that’s mine—that I can look forward to once all of this is over.”

Jensen doesn’t say anything. In his mind, he can see himself at that house with Jared. Perhaps with his own piece of property nearby just to keep up the illusions of them being nothing more than friends. Warm afternoons boating on the lake, miles away from the nearest stadium. Enjoying summer breaks and holidays before their eventual retirement (or after lucrative stints in Major League Soccer once they’re too old to actively play in Europe anymore).

By now, Jensen has gotten used to this version of Jared. Here, or whenever they’re away from their respective clubs and the hounding English press, Jared is much calmer, quiet and delightful. Not at all the cocky, young talent on whom the press loves to lavish attention. Jensen is beginning to understand why Jared acts the way he does when he’s in the spotlight.

“United is full of big personalities,” Jared had told him. “I didn’t think anyone would notice me if I didn’t _make_ a big deal out of myself.” He’d looked at Jensen with a knowing grin. “Bet you hated it, didn’t you?”

Jensen had only shaken his head, but Jared saw right through his denial and took great pleasure in demonstrating just how _big_ his personality was.

“Maybe I should buy a place in London,” Jared muses tonight, disturbing Jensen from a light doze. “That way we—”

Jensen rolls them both with a sleepy grunt, shushing Jared with a sloppy kiss. “We can talk tomorrow,” he mutters. “Time to sleep.”

Jared chuckles but he doesn’t complain, instead settling against the warm curve of Jensen’s body and letting his breathing even out.

Manchester United _had_ come calling during the last transfer window. Whether it was Taylor Twellman’s comments that put the idea in their heads or not, Jensen couldn’t help but consider their offer. As did the staff at Crystal Palace. United was offering £5 million for Jensen’s transfer—twenty-five times what Palace paid for him when he left Norway. In the end, Jensen and Palace turned the offer down, and Jensen never regretted his decision. Even Jared, who was excited at the idea of playing with Jensen at the club level, understood why he said no.

Months later, after Crystal Palace has finished fifth in the Premier League and secured a spot in European competition, Jensen is rewarded for his performance when this season’s FA Cup winners Arsenal offers Crystal Palace £9 million for Jensen’s transfer.

Jensen freaks out and calls his dad, and after a tearful yet joyous conversation, Jensen decides that he’s accomplished what he set out to at Palace, and it’s okay for him to take the next step. By late June, he’s signing for his dream club and taking his first official photos in an Arsenal jersey.

When news of Jensen’s transfer becomes public, Jared’s the first one to call and congratulate him.

“I should come down there,” Jared offers after telling Jensen that he's already gone online to purchase one of Jensen's Arsenal jerseys. The mental image of Jared wearing his number jumps straight to the top of Jensen's list of fantasies. 

“I have a few days until I’ll be missed.”

“Jared—”

“I just really want to see you,” Jared tells him, rolling right over what Jensen’s trying to say. It’s serious in a way they’ve rarely been with one another, preferring instead keep things light and casual.

“This is your dream, Jen, and I want to celebrate it with you.”

“Jared,” Jensen says it louder this time, and finally he hears Jared go quiet at the other end of the line. “Stay where you are. I’m already on my way to Manchester.”

Jared doesn’t say anything, but Jensen can hear him breathing even over the sound of his car’s engine. Jensen doesn’t know what to say, either, but he thinks he might be able to put a name to the warm sensation that swirls throughout his body. He hopes the silence means Jared feels the same way.

Finally, it’s Jared who breaks the silence.

“Hurry,” is all he says. 

Jensen steps on the gas.

Jensen is allowed two weeks before Arsenal’s first preseason tournament kicks off. He spends them in Texas—one week with his family and one week at Jared’s new house, a gorgeous (and secluded) cabin built on a quiet lake. It’s idyllic and exactly the fuel Jensen needs to sustain him when he gets back to England in late July. Jared’s there, too, and he helps Jensen shop for a new flat in North London on a sunny afternoon.

Several photographers catch them as they stroll along casually and stop for lunch at a pub in Islington. The attention doesn’t faze Jensen—their friendship is no secret. In fact, ever since the game against Honduras where Jared and Jensen’s partnership accounted for five goals and three assists, the press has been enamored of their off-field antics, as well.

If they only knew.

Before Jensen knows it, July is over and he’s taking the field for Arsenal during the Community Shield game at Wembley Stadium. The Premier League kicks off next weekend, but Jensen knows that Jared is somewhere in the stands. Probably wearing an ACKLES jersey. That bastard. He ‘wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ he told Jensen several days ago, hand over his heart and a teasing glint in his eyes. They’d laughed, christened another room in Jensen’s new flat, and spent the rest of the night lying naked in Jensen’s bed, talking about the upcoming season.

It will be a season full of challenges. Fitting in with a new club, adapting to a more significant role with the U.S. Men’s National team now that he's been named their captain, all while making time for Jared whenever they can steal a night, an afternoon, or even an _hour_ for themselves.

All worth it, Jensen thinks, as he stands on the pitch at Wembley, body primed and waiting for the whistle. He takes a deep breath and steadies himself, lets the roar of the crowd wash over him.

This is his time, and he’s never been more ready.

 

FIN.


End file.
